


Bullets From A Gun

by Ravenspear



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: comment_fic, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-07-11
Updated: 2011-04-01
Packaged: 2017-10-10 12:12:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 8,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/99615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ravenspear/pseuds/Ravenspear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Supernatural comment!fic, in a variety of flavours.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Obsessing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Gabriel/Dean  
> Rating: G  
> Summary: Gabriel watches Dean sleep. It's kinda funny, in a sad way.

It's a motel room somewhere in Montana. A _dingy_ motel room somewhere in Montana, currently cast in darkness, but for an alarm clock reading 3:12AM that sheds just barely enough dark red light to see by.

Gabriel's steps are light and soundless, barely enough pressure to break the surface tension of water, and he is a less than a whisper as he moves across the floor.

Dean sleeps on his side, lightly curled around his pillow, and softly muttering disjointed Metallica lyrics under his breath. It's enough to make Gabriel quirk a smile as he sits down in a chair that didn't exist two heartbeats ago.

This is how he spends his nights these days; sneaking around like a thief in the night and watching this fragile, silly little creature sleep. He even makes sure that Dean dreams well; is surprisingly unsettled by bearing witness to his pain.

Yeah, this is what Gabriel, trickster deity and former archangel, is reduced to; the kind of creepy, stalkerish behavior that could have been taken out of a teenage girl's romance novel. It's really quite sad.

And all because Dean put him face to face with his own shortcomings.

Repeat: Because _Dean_ \- one of the small, squishy mud-people God had created in a fit of what Gabriel assumes was madness - had put _him_ \- angel and lesser god - face to face with his own shortcomings.

It's really sort of hilarious when you think about it.

And Gabriel _does_ think about it. A _lot_.

He _obsesses_ about it; takes all his motivations, all the decisions he's made throughout the eons, and picks them apart to find what he could have done, what he could have changed. What he finds shames him.

So yeah, maybe it's about time that he takes a stand.

He wishes he was more sure of _how_ to do it, though; his answer has been to run away for so long that he's forgotten how to do anything else.

So he watches Dean; hopes to find some direction there.

His success so far has been limited, but he imagines he can feel something inside him inching, slowly but surely, to some form of resolution.

And when it gets there, he figures he'll still be there when Dean wakes in the morning. He looks forwards to that.

The screaming is bound to be _hysterical_.


	2. Meeting in Firelight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Castiel, Kali  
> Rating: G  
> Summary: In Africa, Castiel has a conversation with the one called Redeemer of the Universe.

He finds Kali in Africa, nearly at the gates of what used to be Eden. She's fighting someone else's war, dressed in mismatched military fatigues that hang awkward off her body while she wields an AK-47 like it was her own arm.

He approaches her at night when she sits alone at the fire, keeping watch over sleeping child soldiers with the eyes of a mother tiger.

"Bhavatarini," he says, bowing low, "I seek your audience."

She turns to look at him, and he finds it hard to breathe when she smiles at him, radiant and beautiful and lovingly like the mother goddess she is.

"Son of Heaven," she acknowledges with a nod. "Come, sit with me and say what you will."

"Thank you, Mahakali," he replies as he sits. "I am Castiel, and I come before you because the End Times are here."

"We know of this, Castiel of Heaven. We have read the Omens, and my husband is preparing to dance his last-"

"But what if it could all be diverted?" he interjects before he can think. He can feel his face pale as he realizes what disrespect he's shown. "I- I apologize, Mahakali. I-"

"Think nothing of it, child," she says, waving his apology off with three black hands. "Remember, I bade you speak. So what do you mean by 'diverting' the End Times?"

"This apocalypse is not meant to happen; it is nothing but the result of children lashing out in anger towards their absent father."

"Your god that has gone missing."

"Yes."

"So you have come to me why?"

"I want to raise an army," Castiel says, determination in his eyes. "An army of gods to march against the forces of Heaven and Hell at the Last Day and save this world."

Kali quirks her mouth into half a grin. "It has never been done before."

"But it _can_ be done."

Her grin grows into a savage smile. "Yes, I do suppose it can."

"And who better to stand at the front of that army than Adya, the one who shall devour all things?"

At that she laughs, and in the distance he can hear birds and hyenas laugh with her. "You would have me be your general, Castiel of Heaven?"

He looks her in the eyes then, and she stops laughing at the intensity there, the determination and the faith. "I can not be the general, Kalika. I was an angel once, a lesser one, and now I am not even that. If this world will be saved, I need a general that gods will follow. I need you."

"And what if I have no interest in being general."

"You do. No one outside your homeland may know, but you are the supreme mother, who once left the battlefield to comfort a crying child. And this world is full of crying children, Mahakali."

Kali is silent then, for what feels like an eternity as she stares into Castiel's eyes, and he shivers as he feels her picking him apart with her gaze.

Then she sits back, and her eyes return to her fire. "I suppose you're right, Castiel. I will serve as your general."

"I am relieved to hear it."

"I will gather what other gods I can to our cause. My husband and I can probably convince several greater gods in India to join us, and I have friendly relations with other wargods," she says, as she slips into the role of the strategist with practiced ease. "Where would you have us assemble?"

"There is a place called Sioux Falls, South Dakota in the United States. There you can find a place called Singer Salvage and a man named Bobby Singer. He can tell you where to lay low," he says. "I suggest you proceed there with discretion; this plan hinges on it not being discovered by any of my brothers before it is to late."

"Don't worry your feather-bedecked little head about that, Castiel," Kali says with a lopsided smile. "Wargods or not, we do understand the importance of subtlety."

"I wasn't implying that you didn't."

"Sure you weren't, Castiel of Heaven. Now shoo. Go amass your army. We'll meet again in Sioux Falls."

"I will look forward to that, Mahakali," Castiel says as he gets up and brushes the sand of his trenchcoat.

"And so will I," Kali replies.

"Until then," he says and bows low once again before taking to wing and disappearing into the starlit sky.

Kali follows his silhouette across the immaterial until she can no longer distinguish it from the swirling eddies of creation-stuff. Then she turns her eyes to the fire, and lets out an eager laugh before taking a drink from her hipflask.


	3. An Afternoon at the Duck Pond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Gabriel, God, Metatron.  
> Rating: G  
> Summary: In which God is chilling, Metatron is irritable, and Gabriel is a duck.
> 
> Other Notes: Crossover with _Dogma_

"I'm pretty sure this is cruel and unusual punishment, and I _emphatically_ object," the duck says.

The woman in the silver dress shrugs.

"Objection noted," Metatron translates, deadpan. "Just be happy she found it in her heart to bring you back at all after what you did. Running off all willy-nilly, upsetting the Divine Plan. Do you even _know_ how much scrambling we had to do to make sure your gallivanting around didn't upset the evolution of the universe? _Do_ you?"

Gabriel the Duck just rolls his eyes. Well... _tries_ to roll his eyes. He keeps forgetting he's a duck now, and that ducks are not humans. He sighs.

"Besides, it's not as if it's forever," the Metatron grumbles, and God seems to agree, if the wide smile and cheerful nodding are anything to go by. "We just have to wait for your _daughter_ \- and thank you for _that_ mess, by the way - to bring your new body."

Gabriel the Duck wants to raise an eyebrow, but knows that he'll probably fail, so he doesn't even try. "What does Hel have to do with this?"

God quirks her mouth and crinkles her nose as she feeds Gabriel a piece of bread. (He sort of hates himself for actually eating it.)

"Well, what with your running off to join the circus, and spending all that time in - what was it you called it? - '_witness protection_'," Metatron translates (loosely as usual, Gabriel guesses), "you're not entirely angelic anymore. Which means that no matter _how_ much we want to just stick you in a new body and drop you off on the North Pole, we need something a bit less divine to cram you into. So we enlisted your children to forge a body; they share your blood, the way it was when you were Loki, and with that they can shape a proper vessel for you."

"You do realize that they'll probably stick me in a ten-year-old _girl_ or something?"

"Oh, if we should be so lucky," Metatron says wistfully as he looks out over the duckpond. God pokes him hard in the side and looks at him reproachfully. "Well _fine_," he replies. "Less vengefulness; missive received." The angel rolls his eyes.

"So, how long do you think the kids'll take?" Gabriel asks, and starts testing his new duck legs.

God looks thoughtful, and Metatron says "She said it's shouldn't take too long, but those nephilim... You never really know where you've got them."

"Well," Gabriel says, flapping his wings and getting off the bench, and at least _that_ is familiar. "If we're going to wait much longer, I think I'll be going for a swim," he continues as he starts waddling towards the pond. "That Canada goose over there has been _totally_ checking me out."

Behind him, God laughs silently, and Metatron groans.

Gabriel tries to cackle maniacally, but sadly the effect is ruined by his new, squawkish voice.

The Canada goose looks pretty impressed, though, so he figures it's still a win.


	4. Monster In My Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Crowley/Dean  
> Rating: R  
> Summary: In which Dean is somewhat upset, and Crowley is a bastard.

"What?" Crowley asks as Dean drags him around the corner of the motel. "Not even bringing me back to your room? Dean, I'm _hurt_."

"Shut up," Dean replies as he shoves the demon up against the wall and steps in close before kissing him, hard.

Crowley makes a pleased noise in his throat, both happy and amused as he hooks fingers in Dean's belt loops, thumbs finding bare skin where his t-shirt is riding up.

Dean's response to that is to slap Crowley's hands away as he bites down on his lip hard enough to draw blood.

The moan that slips free from the demon's mouth at that is damn near pornographic, and the bloody kiss that follows is almost sickeningly arousing. If Dean didn't already hate himself, this would certainly have done it.

Crowley tries to grab at Dean's hips again, and in response, Dean grabs his wrists and pins them to the wall on either side of Crowley's head.

"Are you trying to make a point here, sweetheart?" the demon asks when Dean pulls back, his eyebrow raised and lips curled into a smirk.

"You are such a fucking asshole," Dean breathes, almost close enough to be another kiss. "What the _hell_ did you think you were doing back there?"

"What? Back at the corner market? I'm pretty sure that was me cleverly destroying a rakshasa and saving the day."

"You almost got me and that girl killed!" Dean yells, and he's so furious; both at Crowley for doing what he did, and himself for forgetting, even for a second, who and what Crowley was.

"You wouldn't have even _been_ in danger if you hadn't run in, guns blazing when I had the situation completely in control."

Dean's nails dig into the soft skin of Crowley's wrists, and he snarls. "Control? That's what you call it? You were going to sacrifice all those people!"

"They were five people. I considered them an acceptable loss, if it meant stopping that thing for good," Crowley says, calmly. Neutrally. As if what he's saying is _reasonable_. "And I considered them an acceptable loss if it kept you out of harm's way. _They_ aren't necessary to stop the Apocalypse, but _you_ are." The demon shrugs, smiles invitingly as he looks Dean deep in the eyes. "Besides, I _like_ you."

And that is what Dean has a problem with; he can't deal with what Crowley is capable of doing if it means he survives. He can't deal knowing that Crowley would hurt, torture, kill, and damn any number of people, all for Dean's sake.

He closes his eyes, leans his forehead against Crowley's. "You're such a goddamn bastard," he says against the demon's lips.

"But that doesn't stop you from coming back to this, does it?" Crowley replies, sly and smug and smirking as he brushes sticky, blood-stained kisses against Dean's mouth and chin and cheek.

Dean says nothing, just grits his teeth, because it's true. One hundred fucking percent true. Crowley is, while currently on their side, a monster. And Dean sleeps with him anyway.

"What's the matter, lover? Cat got your tongue?" Crowley mocks, but (and this is what kills) Dean can still hear the faint note of concern hiding beneath the smiles.

Dean answers with another furious kiss, trying to not think at all as he slides a thigh up and between Crowley's, and he swallows the demon's frustrated moan as he stops short of Crowley's dick.

"You do realize I could break your hold any second, you fucking _tease_," Crowley hisses as Dean breaks the kiss.

"Yeah, but you won't," Dean says with a smirk.

"Not if you start doing something productive with your time in the next two minutes, no," Crowley replies with a smirk of his own.

Dean just chuckles in reply, as he crushes his body against Crowley's, grinds against him with a force that's nearly bruising.

Crowley moans, head falling back against the wall, and Dean feels a small self-loathing thrill at being the one forcing that kind of noise out of the demon's throat.

Then he bites down where Crowley's neck meets his shoulder, and that noise is _better_.


	5. Make A Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Lucifer/Castiel  
> Rating: PG  
> Summary: Lucifer proposes a deal to his falling little brother.

Lucifer holds Castiel close, so very close, like a lover might, with wings of cold, white fire wrapped around them like a shield.

And over Lucifer's shoulder, there is Dean and Sam, helpless; hanging crucified in unmoving time, subject to Lucifer's selfish mercies.

"Castiel, Castiel..." Lucifer breathes, breath like ice against his little brother's neck. "Why should you care so deeply for these boys? These animals? Why should you _ever_ choose them over your own family?"

"They _are_ my family," Castiel grits out, and Lucifer's embrace grows impossibly tighter. "They are my _friends_."

Lucifer pulls back only so far that he can rest his forehead against Castiel, can look into his eyes, and he's smiling like he finds Castiel beautiful. "You truly are a wondrous creature, little brother. Even so reduced, you are this fierce. This lovely." Lucifer closes his eyes, sighing lightly against Castiel's lips. "I can save them from their fates, you know. Take them down and make them whole and set right the passage of time once again." He opens his eyes, and they're not his vessel's, they're _his_ and they're beautiful like the Heaven Castiel forgets a little more each day. "All you have to do is ask it of me. All you have to do is wish, and I can give that to you. I can give you _anything_. Everything, if you just wish it."

Castiel's eyes flicker to the side - to Dean, to Sam - then back at Lucifer's melancholy, plaintive eyes. "To do that would be a betrayal," he states. "They'd rather die than see me fall to you."

"Would _you_ rather they die, Castiel? Because this isn't about them; it's all about _you_. What _you_ want."

"I..." He halts himself. Doesn't understand what he feels enough to articulate it.

"It's all right, Castiel," Lucifer soothes. "I understand. I do. Selfishness was something we were never allowed, and it can be a strange and difficult thing to come to terms with. But it's all right. You are allowed to want things, brother. And you're even allowed to have some of them. Father is not here to rule us anymore."

He closes his eyes, slumps slightly in Lucifer's embrace. "I don't want them to die," he forces out, a cold and bitter taste in his mouth at his own weakness.

"Then they don't need to. Just ask me for it."

Castiel opens his eyes again, and they are hard, and his voice is firm. "I want them to live, brother. Would you grant me that?"

Lucifer smiles then, joyous and radiant. "I would gladly grant you that, and more besides, Castiel," he breathes against Castiel's lips.

Then it is Castiel who closes the hairsbreadth of distance between them and kisses Lucifer, hard and angry and relieved and despairing, and Lucifer makes a pleased noise in his throat as he kisses back, calm and sure and gentle as he rests his hands at Castiel's waist.

And if the kiss tastes like salt? Then neither of them remarks on it.


	6. it is a cold resurrection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Lucifer, Castiel (vaguely Lucifer/Castiel)  
> Rating: G  
> Summary: Lucifer is cruel, and his resurrection is not merciful.

Here's the thing about Falling.

It's not so much a fall from grace, as a fall from _favour_.

You see, when the Morningstar Fell, it was not because of some metaphysical change in his own nature, nothing he _lost_. The Morningstar Fell because God turned his back on him, because God _took_ His love away.

That is what the Fall is. It is nothing you choose or control. What it is, is the removal of God's divine light from you.

This is why Lucifer is cold. He can still shine, but his radiance has been stripped of the life-giving warmth that is God's purview.

This is why he cannot simply bring the corpse he's fished out of the sea back to life; such miracles are barred from him now.

But there are other powers, of which he hasn't been stripped, and _time_... Time is still his to command.

So he sits on the beach, with the wet, empty corpse of his little brother in his arms, and time _shifts_.

And then Castiel is moving. Slow at first, and weak. But as the light in his eyes grow brighter, panic bleeds in, and then comes the gagging and the coughing and the retching and the flailing, as the angel drowns in reverse.

Lucifer holds him all through it, firm and gentle, keeping him from harming himself, and whispers soothing reassurances into Castiel's hair.

When finally Castiel has stopped _un_dying, and lies exhausted and trembling in Lucifer's arms, he looks up, eyes wide with confusion and disbelief. "Why?" he croaks, and Lucifer's borrowed throat twinges in sympathy for the rawness of that voice.

"Do I need a reason?" he replies.

Castiel just stares at him, wary and fearful.

"Maybe I just like you?" Lucifer says. "Maybe I am fascinated by your peculiarity? Maybe I enjoy how you help the Winchesters keep this war interesting? Maybe I hope that you will reconsider my offer to join me?" His mouth turns up into a crooked smile. "Maybe I wanted to be owed something; a favour to be called in later. One that would be worth your life."

Castiel flinches, and Lucifer's laughter is joyous and clear over the sound of the pounding surf.


	7. Family Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Characters/Pairings: Sam, Dean, Gabriel/Castiel.  
> Rating: PG  
> Summary: Babysitting a pregnant angel is strangely enough not the weirdest thing the Winchesters have ever had to do.

"Please run that by me again?" Dean says, staring warily at the closed door of the motel bathroom.

"Castiel's pregnant," Gabriel repeats, looking kind of sheepish.

"And he's locked himself in the bathroom, because...?" Sam asks carefully.

"I find the bathtub comfortable!" Castiel yells from the other side of the door.

"He's nesting," Gabriel explains.

"Nest... _Nesting_?" Sam chokes a little on the word. Dean just chokes.

"I need more blankets!" Castiel yells. "And meat!"

"Coming right up, darling!" Gabriel answers, blankets and a takeout bag suddenly in his arms. "I'm coming in."

Dean and Sam try to discretely catch a look of the bathtub when Gabriel kicks the door open, and are greeted by the sight of a rather pissy-looking Castiel sitting curled up in the bathtub, hugging the pillow that had gone missing from Sam's bed. They obviously fail at discreteness, though, because Castiel catches them at it, and glares at them with unsettlingly golden eyes until Gabriel closes the door behind him.

"...At least it's not the weirdest thing that's ever happened in our lives?" Sam says after a while.

"I need a drink," Dean sighs.

\---

  
Since Castiel refuses to move from his tub, they're forced to stay in Salvation, Kansas for the duration of his pregnancy. Like the bastard he is, Gabriel stays away a lot, and leaves Dean and Sam with the heavy lifting.

_("Trust me," Gabriel had said. "Castiel is going to get_ really _territorial in a while, and he'll probably try to kill me if I come too close."_

"How much is too close?" Sam had asked.

"Oh, I don't know. Closer than Utah?")

It's really not as weird has they had been expecting, dealing with a pregnant angel; Castiel spends his days sulking, glaring, and demanding food, and it's a relatively easy routine to fall into. They feed him every three hours, refuse his demands for alcohol, and take turns staying the night in the adjacent room from him, in case he needs something at 3AM.

Three weeks pass, and nothing weirder happens than Cas demanding that Sam hold his hands for five hours as he cries, screams, and curses Gabriel's name _and_ manparts.

...Well, so there _is_ the matter of Castiel's angelic form bleeding through his vessel. But Dean and Sam have seen weirder things than slit-pupilled eyes and shark teeth. They deal.

\---

  
On Thursday of the fourth week, Dean opens the bathroom door and steps in to deliver breakfast.

Half a second later, he steps right back out, slamming the door closed. Sam will later claim that he screamed like a girl. Dean will vehemently deny it.

Sam looks all kinds of frantic when he bursts into the room, knife at the ready. "Dean, what's wrong?"

Dean just points at the bathroom door, looking pale and nauseous. "There's _something_ in there."

"Yeah, _Cas_," Sam says, frowning and kind of pissed off at being woken up four in the morning over nothing.

"No, man, that's not Cas," Dean replies

Sam looks pretty unimpressed, but carefully slides the bathroom door open. "...Oh," he says eloquently.

"Where is my breakfast?" Castiel says pissily, tentacles twitching angrily.

"Um, right here," Sam says, grabbing the bag from Dean and presenting it to him.

Castiel viciously grabs the bag with one of his tentacles, then glares as Sam doesn't leave. "Was there anything else, Samuel?"

"Um, just... What _are_ you?"

All six of Castiel's eyes narrow. "I am an Angel of the Lord."

"Oh. Okay. Yeah. Okay. I'll... I'll just be going now."

"You do that."

\---

  
Gabriel shows up in time for the delivery, for which Sam and Dean are both desperately grateful. Even _hearing_ it was enough to have them spending the night in the Impala. Not sleeping; just sitting there, traumatized.

"Oh, aren't you the cutest little thing ever?" Gabriel coos at the... squid-bird-shark-thing... in his arms the next morning. The squid-bird-shark-thing gurgles happily, and Cas (once again Jimmy-shaped) smiles.

Dean looks dubiously at the squid-bird-shark-thing, but Sam seems pretty enamored with it, going as far as asking if he can hold it.

"Hello there. I'm your Uncle Sam," Sam babytalks to the thing, and Dean groans a little. The thing looks happy through, if the way it wraps it's tiny little baby tentacles around Sam's wrists is anything to go by.

"She likes you," Cas says serenely.

"What are you going to name her?" Sam asks, smiling as the thing giggles and kicks when he tickles her... general stomach area.

"Noa," Gabriel says proudly. "And she'll grow up to be an _awesome_ little angel," he continues, stroking the feathers on her head as Castiel takes her from Sam's hands to cradle her against his chest.

Noa purr-chirps happily and clings lovingly to her father (mother?), and Dean is slightly disgusted with himself for the sudden gooey feeling in his chest.

"Did you want to hold her, Dean?" Cas asks, obviously mistaking Dean's chagrin over thinking the damn thing was cute as chagrin over not getting to play uncle with it.

So he kind of panics. "Oh no, I'm cool, really no problem, oh _god, Cas what are you doing?"_

And then there's a squid-bird-shark-thing in his arms, blinking her large golden eyes at him, and sucking on what he guesses is the squid-bird-shark-thing equivalent of a thumb. And she really _is_ kind of disgustingly cute.

"I guess I'm your Uncle Dean, then, huh?" he says grudgingly.

Noa giggles and pats his nose with one of her tentacles.

"Okay, yeah, you're really cute. I get it. Just don't think that that will get you out of trouble if you ever puke in my car."


	8. Three Sheets to the Wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Castiel/Sam  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Summary: Castiel's not just a bitter drunk. He's a _handsy_ bitter drunk.

"I'll be back in fifteen," Dean says, grabbing his jacket from his bed and opening the motel room door (over on Sam's bed, Castiel hisses as the light hits his face). "Just..." He grimaces. "Just keep Cas away from any more liquor stores," he grumbles, and then he is gone.

And Sam is left alone in a dark motel room with the drunk and increasingly bitter version of the angel he's been having wildly inappropriate feelings for. Great. Just... _great_.

"You okay?" Sam asks, looking over at Castiel's huddled form.

"I've already stated my opinion on your stupid questions," Castiel rasps, not even deigning to open his eyes.

Sam sighs. "Okay, yeah, fine. Do you need anything? Aspirin? Water?"

"Stop trying to be helpful."

Oh yeah, very charming. Sam clearly knows how to pick them. "Look, Cas; I know you're not feeling well, but could you _please_ lay off the bitchiness for a second? I'm only trying to be nice."

Castiel heaves a great sigh in response, then turns around and sits up to face him. "Come over here," he orders, and Sam is pretty sure that the look in his eyes means that Castiel is going to smite him with all the bitter, drunken fury he can muster. But he does as Castiel asks, because he's stupid and falls for all the wrong people.

So he stands by the bed, and Castiel looks up at him with dark eyes. And he just stares. And Sam just stares back.

And _then_ Sam is suddenly on his back on Dean's bed, with a very intent angel straddling his hips and kissing him like he wants to eat his soul.

"Cas?" Sam gasps as he pulls his head back. "What the _hell_, man? What are you doing? What-"

"Shut _up_," Castiel says, tugging his tie loose and... and _whoa_, where the fuck did he learn to tie knots like that? "And stop struggling," he adds, mouth quirking in annoyance as he makes sure that Sam's wrists are bound securely to the headboard.

"_Jesus!_ Cas, I don't think I'm comfortable with where this is going-"

"You're lying," Castiel points out, hands slipping under Sam's t-shirt to trail across his chest.

And yeah, that's kinda true. Because this is pretty much _exactly_ what he wants to be happening. _But_ \- and it's a pretty big "but" - Castiel is still drunk off his ass. Which makes this very much _not_ okay.

"I am perfectly capable of consent, _Sam_," Castiel argues, and _hello, Castiel's fingers on his junk!_

"Whoa, whoa! Cas! _Stop_ that!"

"Why?" Castiel looks like he's halfway between annoyed and confused, and is still goddamn rubbing his hand along the inseam of Sam's jeans. "You want this. You dreamed about this."

"Cas, no. I _don't_ want this."

Castiel frowns. "You're lying to me again, Sam."

And yeah, he really, _really_ is.

"You _want_ this," Castiel continues, tilting his head as he fumbles with the buckle of Sam's belt. "_I_ want this. Wherein lies the problem here, exactly?"

"You're _drunk_," he points out.

"And you're tied down," Castiel replies, as he lies down on top of Sam, one hand still working at his belt buckle. "Hardly in a position to take advantage."

"_So_ not the point here," Sam groans. "Just... Just _stop_, okay? If you still want to do this when you're sober, that will be fine by me, but please, not while you're still smelling like a distillery? Cas? ...Cas?"

And yeah, obviously Sam has nothing to worry about on the "defiling an angel while he's drunk off his ass" front, because Castiel is currently fast asleep and drooling a bit on Sam's shirt.

Sam lets out a sigh of relief, and tries to wiggle out of Castiel's truly _insane_ knots.

Then there is the sound of a key in a lock.

"Sam, Cas, I'm back, and I come bearing foo-" Dean stops stock still in the doorway. "...I'll come back later."

"No! Dean, no! Come back! Help!" Sam yells futilely as the door slams shut again.

"Mmmngle?" Castiel mutters.

"It was nothing," Sam groans. "Just go back to sleep."


	9. Oh, The Humanity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Gabriel/Castiel  
> Rating: G  
> Summary: In which Gabriel is human, and Castiel is really awkward.

Humanity was honestly not as bad as Gabriel had expected. Sure, it still kinda rankled that his dad brought him back as a puny mudperson, but the situation was actually not the nightmare scenario he'd first envisioned when Castiel had stood awkwardly by his hospital bedside and laid out the facts for him.

Actually, he's settled into his life quite well. Gabriel Elison is a reporter for The Sun (best job ever, especially when it has him running into the Winchesters), drives a truly horrendously orange old VW Beetle, rents a comfortably sized attic apartment, and has a dog named Mars Bar. He's learned to cook, and learned that he _likes_ to (even if it's healthy). He goes to a bar at least once a week with the guys from work and beats all of them at darts, and on every free weekday he takes his landlady (Marjorie, who is eighty years old and laughs at his jokes the way Uriel used to) to see the matinée showings at the small movie theater down the street.

It's nice. Strange, yes. But nice. He's... comfortable like this. Not happy, exactly, but almost.

He also has a boyfriend, if apartment building gossip is to be believed. A nice-looking (if slightly creepy) guy who always wears a trenchcoat, and who Marjorie has been hinting that he should bring to see her sometime.

Castiel is not really his boyfriend. (At least not yet; he's working on it.)

But he does visit a lot. He'll pop by when Gabriel is at home, and sit awkwardly at one of the stools by the kitchen counter as Gabriel cooks dinner for them.

And "awkward" is pretty much the operative word. Because Castiel is awkward with a capital "A." Castiel treats their every conversation like a minefield, full of things they shouldn't be talking about (Heaven, their brothers, what Castiel has been doing lately), and he never seems to really know what to do with himself when Gabriel cooks, or tidies up a little, or tries to fix his TV by hitting it a bit.

It's kind of adorable, really, the way Castiel tries so very hard not to do or mention anything that might hurt Gabriel's feelings.

Also, really annoying. Gabriel is not fragile. He might have been, once upon a time, but he's older now, hardened. He doesn't pine for his old station. He misses it sometimes, yes, but he genuinely _likes_ his life the way it is now.

He figures Castiel will get it eventually. ...Well. Maybe "hopes" is a better choice of word.

"Here we go," Gabriel says, putting the plate down in front of the angel. "Spaghetti carbonara, made from scratch. _Man_, I am awesome," he continues, putting down his own plate next to Castiel's and moving around to sit down.

"It's very good," Castiel says honestly, and there is the soft hint of a smile in his eyes when he looks over.

"What? You doubted me?" Gabriel teases, smirking. "That hurts, Castiel. Truly. I am the cooking _master_. Next time you come over, I'll make you mousakka - from _my own recipe_ \- and prove it to you."

"I'd like that," Castiel replies, taking another bite of his food, and Gabriel can't help himself.

"We could eat it downstairs with my landlady," he suggests as he slips the begging Mars Bar a bite of pork. "She's been demanding that I take my boyfriend to meet her for _weeks_ now."

And yeah, maybe that wasn't the most subtle way to clue Castiel in on the whole attraction thing, but Castiel's surprised face (followed quickly by Castiel's choking face) was really kind of worth it.


	10. In the Eyes of Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Uriel, Gabriel, Castiel  
> Rating: PG (allusions to child abuse)  
> Summary: Lonely children that weren't always children.

Cassidy hasn't been a kindergarten teacher very long when Yuriy gets enrolled, only about two weeks, and he's pretty sure the kids hate him even more than is natural for the new guy.

He thinks that might be why he gets so attached to the kid, and why Yuriy gets so attached to him; they're both the strangers, the new kids, not quite fitting in yet.

(And, of course, there's also the look Yuriy gets in his eyes sometimes when he's not paying attention; a vast loneliness, like a missing piece of his soul. Cassidy recognizes that, relates to it, but tries not to dwell; if he does, he's pretty sure fifteen years of therapy will go straight down the drain like it never happened.)

So they're close, the two of them, which ends up being a very good thing.

Because Yuriy is an _angry_ child. He's mostly quiet, mostly calm. But when he is provoked, there is no child more furious. He's never laid a hand on anyone, but he doesn't need to in order to terrify. It buys him few friends among the children (and, though it's never spoken of, few friends among the staff).

But Cassidy sticks with him, is the one to take him aside, calm him down, watch him clench his small fists until he can breathe normally, until he apologizes softly, until he can join the other children and apologize to them too.

(He has discreetly mentioned Yuriy to Dina, the social worker he takes coffee with sometimes. He wonders about how a five-year-old can possess that kind of vicious fury, but still loathe violence enough to manage to control it.)

The situation isn't perfect, and Cassidy doesn't think it ever will be, but it works, _has_ to work (even though Yuriy doesn't really have any friends, and Cassidy's relationship with the other children remains less than optimal).

So when Gabriel is enrolled, arrives full of friendly smiles and prankster spirit and happy eyes that make everybody love him, Cassidy is surprised.

Not at the child himself. No, Gabriel is a very normal (though perhaps a bit over-energetic) child.

But it's the way his face changes when he spots Yuriy for the first time, early in the afternoon outside underneath the tree where Yuriy goes to draw (_dragons and firebirds and heroes with swords made of sunlight and gold_). It's like the all the childishness drains out of him, right then, and Cassidy has to swallow hard when he sees that terrible loneliness of Yuriy's mirrored perfectly in Gabriel's suddenly ancient eyes.

It's the way Yuriy stares back, the glimmer of recognition.

It's the way Gabriel throws his arms around Yuriy's neck, and Yuriy hugs right back, like they've been looking for each other forever.

(It's the way Gabriel whispers, with a reverence that doesn't sound right in a five-year-old's mouth, "Uriel, Uriel, Uriel, I've missed you.")


	11. higher than the sky, and deeper than the cells within; i love you more than these

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Uriel/Castiel  
> Rating: G  
> Summary: When Lucifer brings Uriel back, there is really only one thing he wants to do.

_Castiel is drunk, in pain, forsaken, abandoned by a father he's never met, but had believed in regardless. Far from human ears and human eyes, he screams and screams and screams his despairing rage, until his dying Grace lights the night sky bright as day, until he falls unconscious under the force of his own agonized sorrow._

\---

Castiel wakes to the sound of birds and softly lapping water, and the noise drives sharp spikes of agony through the otherwise dully throbbing pain in his head. He opens his eyes, and finds that he's lying on a bench, by a lake, and the pre-dawn air is crisp and blessedly cool against his too-warm skin.

"You're a _mess_, Castiel," a voice says, and Castiel doesn't breathe, keeps his eyes on the water in front of him, tells himself that he is hallucinating, because he _has_ to be.

Uriel sighs as he sits down on the bench next to Castiel's head, holds a takeaway cup in front of his face. "You should drink this, the fluids will make you feel better."

Castiel sits up in a rush, intent on flying away, quick as air, to go to the Winchesters, warn them, keep them safe.

Instead, his mind is assaulted by a sudden, nauseating vertigo, and it is only Uriel's steady, warm hands that save him from falling off the bench. Uriel's hands that righten him up, helps him sit straight, presses the cup of orange juice into his hands.

"How?" Castiel asks, doesn't look at Uriel. _Can't._ Not when he can't decide whether what he feels is resentment or relief.

"Lucifer brought me back," Uriel says, looking out across the lake. "Brought us all back, we who were loyal."

"Generous of him," Castiel says, and the sarcasm in his voice comes out more tired and resigned than it should have.

Uriel shrugs. "He, of all of us, knows the true value of family, he who has been without for so long." He looks over at Castiel, and his eyes are like a solid, warm pressure against Castiel's cheek. "You should, too, I think."

"I'm nothing like him!" Castiel spits, turns to face his brother, stare him down with all the fury he has in his heart.

But Uriel doesn't rise to the challenge, his eyes remain warm and easy. "Was I right?" he asks, instead.

Castiel is confused. "Right about what?"

And Uriel looks as if the words hurt to speak. "No will. No wrath. No God."

And if they hurt Uriel to speak, they hurt Castiel twice as much to hear. He turns away again, closes his eyes against the despair driving sharp silver nails through his heart. "God doesn't care," he bites out. "He doesn't care, and He has abandoned us all."

"I'm sorry," Uriel says, and his hand on Castiel's shoulder is more comforting than it has any right to be.

"Why are you sorry?" Castiel spits, takes a sip of his orange juice and hates the taste. "You were right."

"And you were hurt," Uriel replies, squeezes Castiel's shoulder gently before he lets go, let's his hand drop, and Castiel instantly misses it. "Seeing you losing your faith is..." Uriel pauses, like he can't find the right words. "It's distressing. You weren't meant to be faithless, and it's painful to see you like this."

"I apologize."

"_God_ is who should apologize," Uriel corrects him. "And Lucifer will make him."

"I won't join Lucifer, Uriel," Castiel says, and he's just so _tired_.

"Then join _me_," Uriel replies, and his voice is so _strong_, and is words are so _honest_, and his hand is so _warm_ when he wraps it around Castiel's cold fingers. "If you can't have faith in God, and you won't have faith in Lucifer, then have faith in that I will let _everything_ burn rather than to see you grieve."

"The Winchesters-" Castiel tries, his voice weak and breaking, and Uriel stops him.

"You don't _belong_ here, Castiel," he says, and his grip on Castiel's hand is firm and reassuring. "This place? This place is a _prison_, and the Winchesters are not your friends. They are not your _family_, and they don't care about you _half_ as much as you deserve."

And Castiel is so weak, so weak, and there are tears in his eyes when he grips Uriel's hand back. "I _can't_, Uriel," he whispers, and _wants, wants, wants._

"You can," Uriel promises. "I have never met anyone as unafraid as you."

\---

_Their first kiss in on a bench, by a lake, in the cool hours of pre-dawn, and it starts because Castiel is in pain, because he is afraid to say "yes" to something he wants so badly it is a physical, whole-body ache. _

_Their second kiss is also on a bench, by a lake, and this one starts because Castiel has just come home._


	12. Stupid Mistakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: John/Gabriel  
> Rating: G  
> Summary: "You've put a spell on me" is probably not the brightest thing John's ever said.

_"You've put a spell on me," John murmurs, hands sliding inside Loki's shirt to rest on warm skin._

_And Loki freezes, his hands going still where they had been fiddling with John's belt, his lips stilling against the skin of John's neck._

_Then, John is being pushed back, and Loki looks furious as he gets of the counter, angry like John hasn't seen him for a long time. He opens his mouth as if he wants to say something, as if he wants to scream, but stops himself, chokes it into a strangled noise that still manages to blow out every electrical socket in the entire kitchen._

_Then, Loki is gone._

\---

In retrospect, John can see where he fucked up.

Because Loki, for all his... well, being _him_... is kind of weirdly insecure. And shit at feelings.

So telling this weirdly insecure creature with a great variety of supernatural powers and spells at his disposal, with whom you're currently in a weird kind of relationship that you don't really ever talk about, that he's put a spell on you?

Yeah, probably not the brightest fucking thing John's ever done.

\---

It takes five days for Loki to return, and they're some of the most anxiety-filled days John has ever had. He's more terrified than he ever thought he'd be, by the thought that Loki might not come back, and it doesn't help that Sam has been looking lost and unsure the entire time, and that Dean's face has permanently taken on that "this is your fault" look that John remembers from when he was four, and John and Mary fought.

He appears in their bedroom, just after John has put the kids to sleep, and he looks like he's going to start yelling straight off.

John kisses him before he can get a single word out, holds onto him tightly as his blood sings with relief.

"I don't know who the hell you think you-!" Loki starts when John pulls back, but John interrupts him with a hand on his mouth.

"It was a come-on, not an accusation," he says.

Loki blinks twice, confused, and then just looks really embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," John says, and he can't help but laugh as the weight in his chest lifts.

Loki punches him in the arm. "I hate you," he says from under John's hand, but he's laughing too.


	13. Protecting What's His

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: John/Gabriel  
> Rating: PG-13 (allusions to child-abuse, murder)  
> Summary: You do not touch Loki's family. Not ever.

In the end, Dean will remember nothing.

He'll be slightly confused as to why Loki is hugging him like the world is ending, and why his eyes look like he wants to cry even when he smiles and tells Dean that of course he and Sam can have all the cookies they want before dinner.

He'll remember nothing, and Loki will carry the burden alone.

\---

He didn't dig the hole, just snapped it into existence.

He didn't dig it, it'll sure as hell be _filled_ with his own two hands.

"Oh, please! Oh God, please!" the man at the bottom of the hole cries. "Oh God, please don't kill me!"

"Shut up!" Loki growls, disgusted as shovels another load of dirt at the man's head. "Sully His name with your tongue _one_ more time, and _trust_ me, you won't like the outcome."

"Please," the man begs. "I don't want to die."

"You're not _going_ to," Loki assures him. "What you've done... Death would be too _good_ for you."

"W-what are you going to do to me?" the man whimpers pathetically, and Loki shovels faster, because he wants it to be _over_.

"I'm going to bury you alive," he says, and ignores the man's weeping. "But you won't suffocate. You'll _never_ suffocate. Never _die_. You'll lie down there, paralyzed in the dirt forever, alive to feel the maggots eat at your flesh."

The man stills, completely white, completely sick in the certainty of Loki's words. "What _are_ you?"

"I..." And Loki wonders what the answer to that question should be. _I am Loki, trickster and deliverer of just desserts. I am Gabriel, angel of vengeance._ "I am a _father_," he says finally, furiously. "And you _dared_ to touch my _child_."

Loki ignores the man's weeping denials, and his weeping apologies, but when that fucking maggot starts to try and _bargain_ with him, he silences him, too disgusted to find any grim satisfaction in that whining pleading anymore.

It takes him a long time to fill the hole - he'd made it _very_ deep - and the sky is already turning rosy with dawn when he turns around, snaps his fingers to make the grass look smooth and undisturbed, and leaves.

\---

John is waiting for him in the kitchen when he steps in through the back door; sits solemnly at the table, contemplating a cup of coffee.

Loki doesn't say anything. _Can't_ say anything, because he is far too tired to lie, and the truth would break _everything_.

He's not too sure it's not broken _already_.

"I thought I knew what I was getting into when we started this," John says, doesn't look up from his coffee. "I didn't, not really. You look too human, and it didn't really ever register that you weren't."

_No, no, no, no, don't do this to me now_, a voice in his head chants. _Not when I only just fell in love with you._

John sighs, rubs a hand through his hair. "I think I get it now," he continues. "I think I understand what you are now."

_So this is it_, Loki thinks, and feels so _endlessly_ hollow.

"Just..." John grimaces. "Just tell me they _deserved_ it, whatever you did to them."

And Loki is stunned. Loki is confused. "Yes," he says, because it's a truth John seems to want, and for once one Loki can give him. "Yes, he did."

John swallows hard. "Good," he says, nods his head, like he's convincing himself, and hope flares hesitantly in Loki's chest. "Good," he repeats, then looks at Loki for the first time, and his eyes hard and determined, but _warm_. "Let's go to bed," he says softly. "The kids won't be up for hours." And he _smiles_, this beautiful, gentle thing that makes Loki fall in love with him just a little bit deeper.

"Yeah, that sounds good," he replies as he makes the two steps over and takes John's hand with a tentative smile of his own. "I'd like that."


	14. Buddy Cop Show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Characters: Jimmy, Michael  
> Rating: G  
> Summary: One's an anti-angel ex-vessel. The other's a former archangel. Together, they fight crime!

"My father has a very... sadistic sense of humor," Michael says, looking... well, Jimmy decides to call it 'stoically chagrined.'

"You don't say?" Jimmy mutters, sipping the awful police station coffee and trying to look grumpy and busy enough with paperwork that no one will bother him. It works.

"It could have been worse," Michael tries, but doesn't even seem to convince _himself_.

"We're trapped in a damn buddy cop show," Jimmy growls, and viciously draws rude stick figures in the margins of a report. "Me non-existing and you in Hell would _not_ be worse than this."

"At least you are the tortured lone wolf one that's guaranteed to get all the female fans?"

Jimmy rewards the ex-angel's almost-smirk by almost blinding him with a thrown pen.

"Novak! Elison! In my office, now!" the Chief's voice booms out across the room.

Michael, good little soldier that he is, gets up immediately and looks expectantly at Jimmy. "Duty calls."

"Fuck you, 'Elison,'" Jimmy growls, but does get out of his chair and grab his trenchcoat. "I better get to shoot some bad guys today, or I swear, I'm shooting _you_."


	15. Facts of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Jimmy/Michael  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Summary: Jimmy teaches Michael a thing or two.

"Am I dead?" Michael gasps, trembles, eyes glassy and hair unruly and sweat-slicked.

Jimmy punches him in the shoulder. "You had an _orgasm_. Stop hyperventilating."

Michael turns wide and almost painfully young eyes on Jimmy. "That was an orgasm? You mean it... It feels like this every time?"

"Maybe not _every_ time, but mostly, yes," Jimmy says, shrugging as he fumbles for the pack of cigarettes he's pretty sure he left somewhere on the bedside table. But then Michael's hand is on his shoulder, stopping him.

"Can we do it again?" Michael asks, eyes glowing eerily in a way Jimmy's not entirely sure is _just_ the result of the ambient lighting.

"Right _now?"_

Michael nods. Enthusiastically. "Yes."

Jimmy groans. "Fucking figures you have _no_ refractory period," he mutters, glaring a bit.

"So that means no?" Michael asks, face falling, and really, he has no _right_ to be able to look _that_ forlorn.

Jimmy sighs. "No, that doesn't mean no," he says, rolling over so he's almost on top of Michael again. He raises an eyebrow. "It means 'come over here, and I'll teach you about the wonders of masturbation.'"


	16. Maternity Pants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Gabriel/Crowley  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Summary: Crowley takes offense at the color of Gabriel's new maternity pants. _Lots_ of offense.

"_What_ are those?" Crowley demands, glaring like he's trying to set Gabriel's pants on fire by will alone. Or maybe not, as he could, conceivably, _actually_ do that. So, more like glaring like he'd _like_ to set them on fire by will alone, but _can't_, because of the potential backlash.

"What, these?" Gabriel asks, gesturing at the the livid orange pants with his yogurt spoon. "They're my new maternity pants," shrugging a little as he eats another spoonful of blueberry-and-virgin-blood yogurt and curls further into Crowley's couch. "Can't fit into my jeans anymore now," he adds, patting the occasionally softly glowing bulge at his middle.

Crowley's face softens for a split second as he focuses on Gabriel's belly, but he recovers quickly and goes back to hate the pants. "They're _orange_," he points out.

"Indeed they are."

"Why are they orange?"

Gabriel groans. "It was the only color they had in stock at the store, okay? I didn't pick them with the _express_ purpose of annoying you. But now that you're acting like a dick, I can't say that I regret the color anymore," he says, pointing the spoon menacingly at Crowley's chest.

The demon grimaces. "Can't you just..." He waves his hand in that way Gabriel has come to take as 'your ridiculous angel/pagan nonsense powers.'

"Sorry, darling," Gabriel says with a shrug, not really feeling very sorry at all. "Kids are sending my powers on the fritz, so the pants are staying orange." He even draws out the word 'orange,' which he will admit is just to be an annoying dick.

Crowley just stands there for about twenty seconds, looking all sorts of displeased, until finally, with a _deeply_ unhappy noise escaping his throat, he moves to sit down beside Gabriel on the couch. The angel happily takes the opportunity to curl up against him, looking for the perfect seating arrangement before finally ending up almost in his lap, Crowley's arms around him.

"You'll learn to get used to them," Gabriel says, holding out a spoonful of yogurt for Crowley to taste.

"Lord, I _hope_ not," Crowley mumbles before accepting Gabriel's offering. "Mm," he says after swallowing. "That's delicious. What batch was that?"

"The girl from Boston," Gabriel says, scraping out the last of the yogurt from the bowl. "Surprisingly light on the teenage angst."

"Good." Crowley nods. "The last thing we need is for our spawn to end up like the Winchesters," he says, patting Gabriel's belly and the angel smiles at the marvel in his eyes at the tentative sparks of questing power from his children, _their_ children, coming out to feel him.

"Perish the thought," Gabriel laughs, and under Crowley's hand, the children share their mother's mirth.

Crowley smirks, pressing a kiss to Gabriel's lips, and Gabriel takes the opportunity to lick the last of the blueberry and blood taste out of his mouth. Then, he pulls back and reaches for his phone, pressing the speed-dial two.

Gabriel raises an eyebrow. "Seriously? Work? _Now?"_

"It'll only take a minute," Crowley assures him. Then, a couple of seconds later, frowns. "Really, Bela? Your _answering machine_? I know that this is your night off, but this is _unacceptable_. Even if you're breaking into the Vatican, I should be able to get a hold of you!" He sighs. "Well, when you hear this, I need you to do me a favor. Gabriel needs a pair of maternity pants in a color that _isn't_ as nauseating as orange. Find some for me. ...And keep your phone _on_."

"Seriously?" Gabriel says as Crowley hangs up. "You hate them so much you're willing to piss off the _one_ person in your administration that doesn't _actually_ want to rip your throat out?"

"Yes," Crowley says without hesitation, glaring a bit at the pants. "Yes, I really do."


End file.
